


shaking fingers, open palms

by asexuelf



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alienages (Dragon Age), All Guards Are Bastards (Dragon Age), Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Elf/Elf Relationship(s), F/M, Fantastic Racism, Isolation, Plague, Quarantine, Racism, at least fenrill are soft to each other, that's not very surprising xD, this is very left-y but it's me being angry so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23232436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexuelf/pseuds/asexuelf
Summary: Kirkwall has issued her people remain in their homes until the sickness overtaking the city is gone. As always, the Alienage suffers the most under this new rule - and those who enforce it.[Written for Lock Down Fest in response to Corona Virus fears in 2020.]
Relationships: Fenris/Merrill
Comments: 23
Kudos: 21
Collections: Lock Down Fest





	shaking fingers, open palms

**Author's Note:**

> you can tell i wrote this when i was angry about how my government was handling shit... i know lockdownfest is supposed to be about calming each other down during our isolation, but this one might just make you angry! xD read with caution!
> 
> other warnings include: fantasy racism, elvhen oppression, implied genocide, class inequality, anxiety about sickness, past abuse, mentioned sexual assault (non graphic), and police brutality (er, guard brutality?) ... plus a suggestive comment of a consensual nature, which lightens things up a bit :3
> 
> i hope you enjoy!

Well, shit. As if Kirkwall needed a new disaster.

They're only just on the tail end of the last one, human, elvhen, and kossith bodies alike only just gone cold, and already Kirkwall is diving headfirst into her newest disaster. Her people aren't even finished coping with the last horrible thing, haven't even finished mourning the dead, and yet, here it is - a _plague_.

How unspeakably annoying.

Fenris huffs, scratching aimlessly at a line of lyrium. He can't seem to sit still. It's annoying that he's stuck in one place, yes, and it's annoying that there are guards in crow-shaped plague-masks outside, _yes_ , and it's annoying that he can't leave Merrill's home to sneak into his own comforting bed, but most of all, it's distressing. Although he's having a hard time admitting it to himself, Fenris is frightened.

Sickness is a constant source of anxiety for Fenris. He can't see one of the Chantry's healers, seeing as he's not technically a citizen. He can't take care of himself, for lack of knowledge how to lower a fever or settle a roiling gut. He can't get the memories out of his head, can't erase the cruel reality of Danarius' expectations even years out from under his thumb.

Fenris stuffs it all down and feigns annoyance. It's easier. It's easier to hide his feelings, even from himself. Especially from himself.

The witch is not hiding her feelings. The witch isn't hiding from anyone.

"This is obscene!" she shouts, far too loudly for Fenris' comfort. He looks nervously towards her door where a guard is surely posted, but no insulted human forces their way in. Yet. "They can't possibly hope to quarantine the Alienage the same way they quarantine human homes. They can't! It just won't work!"

Fenris watches her throw her books together, watches her angrily force the larger ones to standing so she can tidy them into her sagging shelf. 

"What of all the families who share a roof, hm?" She looks at him like it's his fault, hands on her hips, red nails bright against the green of her vestments, before turning again to pick up dishes and stack them next to a bucket of water. "What of all the elderly or infantile or those prone to deathly illness who are being trapped in homes with sick people who _can't afford to be treated?_ This is- This is-!"

"This is their power over the powerless." Fenris stands uneasily to follow her as she stalks into the space she calls her bedroom. He can't tear his eyes away from the door, but he can't tear his eyes away from her either. She's like her own natural disaster, putting things to order almost ferociously. "It's how it always is, witch. Don't be surprised now."

"It seemed different somehow, when they were coming to _hunt us_ in the forests. I naively imagined they'd at least view the elvhen of the city as their people - or people at all." She scoffs, a sad sigh posing as an angry growl. "Now I see it's the same everywhere. I hope your Chantry friend-"

"Sebastian is your friend too."

"-is having a good time in that worthless golden building with his evil shemlen prophet and her evil shemlen followers! And by a good time, I mean a terrible time!"

He's never seen her so angry. It's rare that Merrill's anger ever bleeds through at all, except in those rare moments she becomes fed up with Anders or Aveline. Usually she grows cold and detached then, her voice going airy and light and just left of pleasant, but now it's loud and tight and deep in her throat. Her teeth are clenched, nearly bared, and her eyes are wild.

"You're scared," he realizes.

She throws her arms in the air. "Of course I am! The Dalish don't do this! When someone is sick, we heal them! It's that simple! It should _be_ that simple _now_!"

Fenris laughs bitterly. "At least the people of Darktown have a healer who agrees. This may be the only time they're better off than those above."

"You… have a point there." She flops back down on her bed, hitting the thin mattress with a light _oof._ "If shemlen only accepted magic as we do, Anders could be healing everyone openly. Not all sickness is curable through magic, but- It can still be treated, can't it?"

An itch starts under his skin - the same itch that always accompanies magic. It's something like anger, something like fear; he's been feeling it a lot since the poor started dying while the rich hid away in their gleaming, golden homes (at least, this specific occasion). It's also the feeling he always feels when _magic_ is said to be underappreciated. As if he has not lived the proof that it is overvalued to a fault.

But he doesn't want to start an argument. So he remains silent.

Merrill doesn't seem to mind. She glares up at the ceiling, sighing hard through her nose. "I suppose all we can do is hope for minimal casualties until the shems let us go. Lucky thing I went to market yesterday… Though I now worry not everyone will have enough to eat."

She goes on like that even more, tirading about the injustice of it all, worrying over the health of the other elvhen in the Alienage, (and isn't it strange to hear her say that, _Elvhen,_ when all he's ever known is _elves_ \- or worse), but he doesn't speak up. Why interrupt her? There's something comforting in her anger, in the Dalish brogue of her voice, in the lilting curls of her tongue.

She reminds him a bit of Anders. Not the Anders that insults him and demands information about his past to "prove" elves don't have it worse than mages, but the Anders who cares deeply for the people of Kirkwall, for the children born with the curse of magic, for the unjust structures of power that pervade seemingly every corner of Thedas.

Fenris likes that Anders. He only wishes that Anders stuck around for longer than an afternoon.

He doesn't know how long this Merrill will last, but he likes her. And, though it took far too long to figure it out, he likes regular Merrill too.

The Merrill that follows too close behind Hawke, smiling like a kitten and dangerous like a mountain lion. The Merrill that's terrible at cheating at cards and always calls it 'Strip Diamondback', even if they aren't playing for skin. The Merrill that volunteers for every little chore need done in the Alienage, even the ones she hasn't a clue at. The Merrill that bites back when Anders says something ignorant - when Fenris says something ignorant too. The Merrill that has treated him with more patience then he has likely earned.

The Merrill that looks at the boarded up windows with a squared jaw and fire in her eyes, as if plotting to tear it all down and heal Kirkwall herself.

"I hope you realize you cannot heal the elves here," he says, as kindly as he knows how. "You're a bloodmage, witch. And the guards wouldn't allow it."

Merrill's eyes are wide, pupils small. Her nose whistles a little when her nostrils flare. This is a well-tread argument; he can almost hear her say that blood magic can, in fact, be used to heal - that blood magic, like any magic, is simply a tool. Instead, she takes a deep breath and clenches her jaw. He thinks she might be counting to ten.

"I know," she murmurs finally. "And, since you've brought it up, I can't _believe_ Aveline posted guards here _again._ I've told her what her men sometimes do to the girls here. And keeping us locked in our homes instead of trusting us to heal each other… It makes me livid! What is _broken_ in that controlling, overbearing, _shemlen_ -"

She continues into curses, her usually kind tongue uncharacteristically cruel in her anger. Despite himself, Fenris flinches. "Aveline is… ignorant."

"I know she's your friend," The words are understanding, but the tone is accusatory. "She's my friend too. At least, I try to be her friend. Not that it does me much good."

"Aveline has a lot to learn. As did I once."

"The only difference being your ignorance kept you isolated. It hurt you, Fenris. Hers keeps her in power."

"You are beautiful like this." Well, shit. There's disaster number three. "I- mean to say-"

But he can't much continue, not with Merrill's wide eyes staring at him in shock. The light brown skin of her round cheeks has grown flushed, bringing further attention to the dark forest lines of vallaslin.

"Y-Y'know, Fenris," she stutters. "Not many girls actually like hearing that they're beautiful when they're angry."

"You… are not many girls?" It comes out weak. The corner of his mouth falls into an awkward line and he stares at her nervously, his ears twitching entirely without his consent.

Then, she relaxes. A small breath leaves her in the shape of a giggle. "No," she says somewhat warily. "I suppose I'm not… I'll admit it's nice to be listened to. Appreciated instead of silenced."

"Why anyone would wish to silence you is beyond me." 

He steps forward again, kicking dirty clothes out of the way as he walks. She looks at the mess like she wants to apologize, but she's since learned he won't stand for her saying sorry for taking up space, for breathing 'too much' air. Instead she closes her eyes and leans forward to meet his chest with a small smile on her face. When he wraps his arms around her slim frame, she tucks her head under his chin with ease. It's been several months now, but this still feels so new.

"I love you," she sing-songs, sounding much more like her usual self. It brings a smile to his face, until she admits, "Fenris, I'm so scared of what's happening."

His smile falls. "So am I." If she can be honest, so can he. "I worry for our friends. And for the people of your Alienage."

"Our Alienage, Fenris. Our people."

The argument is there, just as familiar as her eyes meeting his in the morning, as her hand holding his across a shared meal. He simply nods. "I worry for them and their safety."

She shakes in his arms, just enough to be felt under his fingertips. She's good at hiding it. "At least we know the guards will be staying outside. They've all got families they can't risk infecting too."

"Small mercies," and though he means to say it optimistically, it comes up bitter. "For what little it may be worth, I am glad to be here with you. I cannot say what I might have done had I learned you were being trapped alone in here."

"Probably something impolite."

The smile on her face is so impish, even despite the nervous sadness invading the edges of it, that he can't help but laugh with her. "Very impolite. One might even call it rude." He presses a kiss to the tip of her nose. "At the very least, it would give the guard reason to arrest me."

"Oh, you wouldn't allow that! They wouldn't have those cuffs ten feet away before you'd be swinging that big sword around." Then she sighs. "Speaking of your 'big sword'... At least being together gives us more to do. Even I can only read books for so long and Anders won't teach me any more naughty spells to try alone."

Fenris laughs even harder. "You always find the silver lining, _amata_. You're good at it." Despite the flirtatious tone, a blush prickles at his neck and face, burning hot.

"Thank you. I do try." Reaching on tip-toes, she presses her mouth to his, gently and tenderly. "If I didn't, I fear I'd be angry all the time. And that just wouldn't be good for my health!"

That same anger burns lower in his chest with her here in his arms, but it burns regardless. "I think you're right."

It seems she's done cleaning now - and ranting too. She's uncharacteristically quiet as she drags him back over to the bed, where her sheets are mussed and wrinkled. Instead of any of the 'entertainment' she suggested, Merrill flops down onto her back again, vestments and all, and looks up at the tarped-over hole in the roof. As he lies beside her, his own armor forgotten by the door when he came to visit yesterday, he follows her gaze.

Stars once shined beyond that hole. They still do, somewhere out of sight. Out of reach.

The heartbreak on Merrill's face is palpable.

He takes her hand in his, feeling the gentle grooves of wrinkles and the soft lines of old scars. "This will pass," he promises her. "And I will be beside you all the while."

"Of course you will," and her voice is too sad to be called bitter. "They wouldn't let you go anywhere else."

"That… is not what I meant." He rolls atop her to kiss her gently, then to remove her armor. "You know I could stand in the corner and brood all week if I wished. I wish only to be beside you in this."

She lifts her hips as he removes her leggings, leaving the striped smalls underneath for her to sleep in. "Can I be big spoon? I'm too angry to be little spoon."

Despite himself, he smirks, more than charmed. "Of course, little witch. Big spoon it is." And with his heart still beating out of time, Danarius' breath too close to his ears, he thinks being held might be good for him.

With Merrill's arms around him, the gentle swell of her breasts against his back and her knees pressed warm against the backs of his thighs, how could anything be less than okay? It's going to be a rough while, he's sure - if not for himself than for those trapped without supplies in their homes. Humans can ask deliveries be made, but elves with their small coppers have no such luxury. If Hawke doesn't come knocking down doors, Fenris will phase through and start sneaking people food.

Yes, he thinks as he rolls his thumb over Merrill's knuckles, if his _amata_ is in pain, then he will find the source and treat it. Whether sickness or city guard, he'll do whatever it takes. In the end, they will be well - and if he must, he will be the one to make it so.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! 💖 i hope it brought you a little catharsis, if nothing else xD


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